


Binding Spell

by vanessa_cardui



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bondage - Held With Their Own Torn Clothing, Demon Summoning, F/F, Forced Orgasm, Knifeplay, Overstimulation, Sex Toys, Training, bad demon summoning etiquette, demon turns the tables on their summoner, forced sex addiction, sex with your double
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanessa_cardui/pseuds/vanessa_cardui
Summary: When she summoned a demoness, Justine really should have made sure that the demoness was properly bound.The demoness sure isn't going to make the same mistake about Justine.
Relationships: Demoness/Witch who summoned her
Comments: 11
Kudos: 113
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Binding Spell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lokifan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokifan/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this treat, Lokifan!

If Anatole hadn't blocked her number, Justine wouldn't have tried magic. But for him to block her? Fuck that! He was the one who'd cheated on her with Helena, he was the one who said that he wanted to work things out, and then no responses to her texts and one ring and then voicemail when she tried to call? Maybe that was okay in Europe or something, but Anatole was in the US, so he was going to. . . Justine's dad had let her take mom's books with her to college, because he wanted to throw them out. And maybe that'd been the reason why mom had left and maybe it hadn't, but there was something in those books, and it was something real.

She got out the oldest one, with the cracking brown cover and the really thick paper. Fucking Anatole, and fucking Helena . . . she wasn't going to stand for it. There wasn't any way that she was going to stand for it.

The instructions were a little complicated, but none of the ingredients were hard to find. Salt and sage, blood and water. Good thing that she wasn't living in student housing, because there'd be someone complaining to the RA as soon as she set the sage on fire, but as it was, she could do the whole thing and she wasn't interrupted, and when she was done, it was done. Maybe magic was why mom had left and maybe it wasn't, but even if it didn't work, it worked--she'd started furious, and full of Anatole and Helena, and when she was done, she was ready to get an edible and go to sleep.

Anatole wasn't the only tall, good looking guy on campus. There was that accent, but. . . .

"See," said someone, right behind her shoulder, "usually, people will put in all sorts of limiters. I have to do this and that before the next new moon, or--"

Justine whirled around, but there wasn't anyone there. "Or they'll force me into the body of a cat or a goat or whatever. Or a dead person."

What had she. . . she'd been using her mother's athame; she grabbed it, and then someone grabbed her wrist. She grabbed her wrist--someone who was an exact copy of her. "I mean, it's gross, right?" she said. Said without moving her lips. "But I gotta admit, it does keep things like this from happening."

Justine tried to punch the . . .well, the demoness, or whatever it was. She caught Justine's fist with her open hand. She looked exactly like her, but she was a lot stronger than she was. She tsked.

There was a lot of Latin in the spell that she'd used, and also some Welsh, and Justine wasn't sure she remembered it all. But if she said it backward, she'd be able to reverse the spell--

The demon--the demoness, she'd had to use the feminine form in the invocation--looked exactly like her, but she was a lot stronger than she was. She punched her in the stomach, hard; Justine gasped, trying to get her breath back. If she could just get her breath back, she could reverse what was happening. "None of that," said the demoness, plucking the athane from Justine's hand, and pushing her down to the floor. She looked at the knife, shook her head sadly. "Not even quenched in blood. Well, it's still a knife, anyway. Good enough."

She knelt next to Justine, and put the athame next to her throat. "Shush," she said, and Justine froze, feeling the bite of the blade. It traced down from her neck into her collar, then it cut. "Nice," said the demoness, looking at Justine's chest. The tip of the knife poked Justine's breast, and the demoness giggled. Justine turned away, mouthing the words of the reverse of the spell, hoping that she remembered all the words, hoping that--

"Okay, okay. Fun later. Then knife cut again, and again, and then a handful of shirt was being forced into her mouth. Justine tried to struggle, but the demoness was much, much stronger than she was. It didn't take long before she was tied up in the shredded remains of her skirt and the really cute shirt that she'd gotten in the vintage store, lying on the floor in front of her easy chair. And the demoness was sitting in the easy chair, her feet up on Justine's ass.

The skirt had gotten cut up to tie Justine up, but her underwear had been cut away to. . . she didn't want to think about it. It wasn't what the demon was interested in right away, anyway; she'd gotten all of Justine's books out, and was flipping through them as she sat there, drinking Justine's wine.

"You know," she said. "You've got some real stuff in here. You could get into real trouble with this."

Justine grunted angrily from behind her gag, tried to shake the demoness' feet off of her. They just pressed down harder. "Probably be a good idea to do something about that before I go shopping, huh?"

Do something? Go shopping? When the demoness got off of her to stand up, Justine tried to inchworm away. She didn't get far. The demoness lifted her up, still tied hand and foot, and pulled the cloth out of her mouth.

Justine coughed, wetly, and then the demoness's mouth was on hers. Hot and wet and demanding, her tongue probed deeper into--Justine was suddenly flushed; she couldn't breathe. The demoness was exactly her height, her mouth was exactly her own, and she couldn't get loose, couldn't get away. When the demoness finally pulled away, Justine was left panting, looking at her, not finding the words.

"There," said the demoness, with a smile. "That should keep you from getting into anything serious for a little while."

"---" Justine tried to ask what she meant, and nothing came out.

"Right!" said the demoness. "Last thing we want is for you to try to work magic and make a real mistake while I'm out shopping, so I've taken your voice. Also, this way people won't get creeped out by me talking in their heads or anything."

She hadn't talked before, not really--that had been in Justine's head. This was. . . it wasn't just that the demoness looked like her, or sounded like her. That was her voice. The demoness put her finger in the center of Justine's chest, and pushed her down. She fell hard, not able to brace herself or anything. She lay there, and watched her shoes walk out the door--the shoes that she was wearing, the exact shoes she was wearing, the dark blue kitten heels that she'd put on when she'd been thinking of going and seeing Anatole before deciding that she'd do magic instead. There was a little scuff on the back, from when she'd tripped. . . it was her feet in the shoes, but they were walking with a lot more confidence than she usually had.

As soon as the door closed, Justine started struggling. If she could get loose, maybe she wouldn't be able to say anything, but there were warding circles. . . she should've put down a warding circle before she'd start, but at least this way she could get the demoness to stay out, and she'd. . . .

The knots that the demoness tied seemed to get tighter the more she pulled against them. Okay. In the kitchen. She could . . . she couldn't get loose. But she could wriggle a little. If she could get to the kitchen, if she could get the silverware drawer open, she could get a knife out, and she could cut herself loose. So Justine started wriggling her way to the kitchen. There wasn't even enough slack for her to wriggle quickly, but it was that, or. . . or whatever it was that demoness was going to do when she got back was going to happen.

Getting the kitchen door open was a challenge, and getting the silverware drawer open was a challenge, and then trying to get a knife out of the drawer was a challenge. But she did it--she got there, she got the knife out, and then, when she looked up, the demoness was standing in the doorway, shaking her head at her. How long had she been there?

"Naughty," she said. "And after I went to get you presents. Still, if you like knives. . . " she got hold of Justine's ankle and dragged her out to the living room.

"You know what's great?" she said. She waited, like Justine was going to reply, even though she'd stolen her voice. "Sex shops!"

Where she was lying, she could see that the demoness had taken her wheelie suitcase out with her, when she'd left, and that it was looking pretty full.

"Oh, come on, cheer up," said the demoness. "If you hadn't been thinking about fucking, you wouldn't have been able to get me here. So let's see what that Anatole guy is missing out on, huh?"

Trying to get away didn't do any good, but Justine didn't stop trying, in the end, she was standing in the middle of the room, with the rope around her neck anchored to where the lighting fixture had been--It was off on the side, and the room was lit by candles. She was up on her tiptoes, because when she stood flat, that rope started strangling her. It made struggling impossible.

The last of her clothing was scattered across the living room, but the demoness was still fully dressed. Fully her, in a way that she kind of wasn't any more; the person who she saw in the mirror was flushed and bruised, and . . . and there was something that happened to her when the demoness touched her. It was her fingers--they looked like her fingers, they felt like her fingers, they even tasted like her fingers, when the demoness was playing with her mouth. But they were also. . . 

The demoness was walking around her, trailing her hands across her hips, her butt, her breasts, and it was like they were fire--like they left her skin burning wherever she touched her. Justine wasn't sure that she'd ever been as wet as she was then. When the demoness put nipple clips on, it hurt like hell, but also it felt like she was about to come?

And then she did come, from a finger up her ass. It wasn't. . . it was a twisting, unexpected, half-painful orgasm, and it didn't make sense, it didn't make sense that she was coming from being touched like that. She'd never. . . she couldn't think; the finger in her ass twisted and she came again, even harder. She couldn't stay up on her toes, so she was choking as she came, and that made it stronger; she was going to die, and she was coming so hard that there were spots behind her eyes, and she was floating, and--

There was a sudden splash of ice water in her face. Justine gasped, looked at the demoness--looked at her own face, which looked delighted; the demoness grabbed her head with both hands, and kissed her on the mouth, impossibly hard, leaving her short of breath.

"His loss," said the demoness, when she broke away. "You're going to be delightful, once you're fully trained."

Fully trained?

"Yeah, a little more shopping to do, I think. But you're a little less likely to get into trouble like this, right?" She smiled, patted Justine's ass. Then the pat became tight enough to make her--she would've yelped, but she couldn't make any sound at all. Another kiss, squeezing Justine's ass and breast, leaving her gasping when she broke away.

"Or, I mean. I could just order online. You've got Prime, right? Do they have cattle prods on Amazon?"

Justine shook her head, desperately. Fully trained? Cattle prods?

"Well, not an immediate problem. First, let's fuck you into insensibility."

There wasn't any way for Justine to avoid her, and the demoness' kiss burned just as it had before, her hands knew Justine's body just as well as they had before. It didn't take long before she was twisting in orgasm, again and again, trying to avoid the demoness' touch, twisting helplessly trying to find it again when it was withdrawn. It wasn't just that the demoness looked like her--she was her, she knew her. She knew her better than anyone else ever could.

The demoness would bring her right up to the point of orgasm, and keep her there. Or push her over the edge, and keep pushing her over that edge, forcing more out of her, for as long as she wanted. Justine couldn't tell when she'd moved from wanting more orgasms to dreading them, from being fucked by the demon to fucking her, pushing her face into her pussy, driven faster and faster by a riding crop on her ass, and on her bound feet. She knew that the demoness was doing all that to wear her out, and she couldn't stop doing it, couldn't stop wanting more.

In the end, she wasn't sure if she'd fallen asleep or passed out. Either way, she went out with a vibrator up her ass and a ballgag in her mouth, and she woke up when the demoness put nipple clamps on her. There was a little time for food and drink, and then, once again, fucked so hard and in so many ways that she went out from exhaustion.The next time she woke up, she learned that Amazon did, in fact, deliver cattle prods. And heavy metal cages. And other things.

At first, she tried to fight back, tried to find a way to break loose--if she could just get away, maybe she wouldn't be able to banish the demoness, maybe she wouldn't be able to get her life back. Maybe she'd never be able to talk again. But at least she'd be able to get away, at least she'd be able to think, at least she wouldn't have to face the painful sting of the cattle prod and the orgasms that wrung through her, so intense that it hurt.

Only. . . only it wasn't before the demoness noticed that she was trying to do that, and then untied her, and opened the door, and waited. Justine got dressed, left, started walking. And found herself pounding on the door an hour later, silently begging to be let in, crying with need, hoping to be allowed. . . hoping that she wouldn't be allowed, but she couldn't stop begging for it as hard as she could, without any voice at all. Her body knew that it needed it.

She cried when the demoness opened the door, and let her back in to her apartment. Cried in gratitude, cried in despair, cried silently because her voice had been taken from her.

A few days after that, the demoness came back in with someone else.

Justine waiting on her knees by the door, hands behind her head, mouth open, just like she'd been trained. She shivered when the demoness stroked her cheek and her chin, eyes half-closing in pleasure at that touch, which she'd been waiting for. . . then they popped open wide, when Helena came in and laughed at her.

"Legs," said the demoness. "Wider." Justine adjusted the way she was kneeling, automatically; she'd been taught what to do by orgasms and by the cattle prod and by . . . she couldn't tell Helena to get out, because the demoness had taken away her voice, and she couldn't keep from presenting her pussy because the demoness had taken away her ability to disobey.

"See?" said the demoness. "It took a little work, but she's a very good girl now. Go get us our drinks, pet. Mimosas"

Justine had been taught how to do that. She went to the kitchen, mixed the drinks, brought them out on a tray. The demoness was sitting on the chair, Helana on the couch, and it wasn't long before Justine was up on the coffee table on her hands and knees, with Helana's fingernails scratching her sides. She twitched away, but always moved back, watching the demoness, hoping for. . . hoping for pain and pleasure and to be told that she was good.

"Anyway," said the demoness. "I could bring her back to Abaddon. The going rate there is two silver a pound for fresh meat, and she's a plump little sow. But, you know. Shipping and handling, right? So, five hundred bucks, and she's yours."

Helena's hand had moved to her breast, and she was doing a thing where she spread her hand out, and then brought her fingers together so that they scratched their way to her nipple, and pinched her there. It hurt, and Justine didn't like it, and Anatole had done that. Had he told her about that? Had they. . . 

"Three-fifty?" said Helena.

The demoness sighed. "Come on," she said. "Now that Anatole's left, you've got time on your hands, and--"

"And she's going to need to be fed and all," said Helena. "Four hundred, and I get the stuff--cage and plugs and--"

"Four hundred," said the demoness. "And you can keep the cattle prod, the cage, and the butt plugs, but that's it. And I'm not giving her her voice back."

"Deal," said Helena, as the demoness passed her Justine's leash. "I mean, it's not like she ever had anything important to say, anyway."


End file.
